Katastrophy [FINISHED]

[Trisha Morello]

The fact that she fooled him brought about a large smirk to her face. It was so satisfying. He seemed relieved, glad, whatever. She didn't care. All she cared about was the fact that she got to feel his head cracking against hers. She used the top of her forehead too, where the skull starts to curve so she wouldn't be left with a pounding headache and a group of stars clouding her vision. She managed to his his nose which was even more satisfying. It was a shame she didn't break it though. Another disfigurement on that pretty face of his.

She was hoping her reign of victory would continue with her kick to his groin. But, unfortunately, it was a predictable move, and someone as... SOMEHOW well trained as he was able to pick up on it. He swatted her foot away. Trisha took some steps back as her kick was deflected and she felt the bar top hit her lower back. She was glaring daggers at him. There was death in her eyes. She wanted his head on a fucking plate... preferably not a silver platter because then she wouldn't be able to go around holding it.

He gave her a cute little nickname that made her skin crawl. But she smirk evilly. "Is this how your got that pretty little scar? A bar fight with a girl?"

But her taunting was cut short when he sent another pitcher of amber liquid right for her face. It hit her too, the whole damned pint. Her eyes closed instinctively and after it was said and done, her mouth hung open. Shocked, she kept her eyes closed as she took in deep breaths. She felt the... stale, slightly room temperature beer against her skin, for her clothes were already soaked.

Who.

The.

She was enraged. Trisha closed her mouth and set her jaw as she slammed her fist down on the bar. "Who... the FUCK just leaves a pint of beer out?" Trisha swung around and reached behind the bar top for a large glass of vodka, but her hand was grabbed by a burly man. Was it the owner? Probably. He looked at her sternly.

"Out..." he growled lowly. Trisha narrowed her eyes so he twisted her arm slightly and shoved her toward the door. So she stormed out, kicking over a chair as she went. "You too!" the man said, jutting a finger toward Daniel.

[Daniel “Lykaon” Myr]

Truth be told Daniel found the whole situation drop dead hilarious and he couldn't help but be even more amused as the burly tavern owner ordered him out with a large, brutish scowl on his face. The poorly disguised grin on his face nearly got him another beer bottle thrown at him, but he quickly ducked his head and departed from the inn; the whole establishment breathing a sigh of relief as the two left. Unruly drunkards typically plagued the more shady and tolerant bars and taverns in the social district and so the little outburst the two shared was a rather rare occurrence.

As one hand massaged his tender jaw he shot a comment at the little ball of spitfire, "Decent right hook you got there... do you have a habit of stirring up fights in bars?" If the girl looked his way he had a friendly smile on his face; the offenses in the bar already in the past. Lykaon didn't have a habit of holding grudges as far as small things went. So what she maybe cracked his jaw and chucked a beer bottle at his head? At the end of the day the two were no worse for the wear, the two were both human, the two would be just fine.

A faint breeze picked up and he felt the touch of cold light upon his chest where a wet patch lay and his eyes shifted over to look with a hint of regret at the soaking form of the women beside. The smile on his face abruptly changed into a thin line of worry and he headed off towards his SUV, throwing open his trunk and grabbing a simple, black hoodie which he promptly tossed at Trisha's face. "Can't have you catching a cold, Sugar Tits." Though it might have been a tender moment between the two he kept his eyes locked onto the contents of his trunk, without thinking he tugged at the black sheet, tucking it more firmly into place to ensure that moonlight would glint off any of the weaponry or armor lying underneath it.

Shutting the trunk he glanced at her from the side, his teeth lightly chewing on the inside of his gums as he mulled a thought over in his head. "You... don't have a home, do you?" The statement dropped out of his mouth with all the weight that it carried and Daniel even felt a little of the burden leave his body as he did it. The shabby clothes, the fact that she paid with change--both were hints that perhaps she was in a worse state than she even looked. He still felt that she was too annoying and obnoxious to deserve any pity, but in his eyes he couldn't help but carry a small note of it despite the fact that she seemed to hate it.

[Trisha Morello]

The chill of the night air took Trisha by surprise and she took in a deep breath. She was soaked and she smelled awful. That fucking asshole. She couldn't believe he had doused her... twice. She gripped at the bottom of the soaked shirt, beer pooling around her finger tips. She was about to hit something. She wanted to hit something. She wanted to beat that man's face in until his skull caved under her blows. But when he came outside and stood next to her, she felt all the energy drain from her. She felt tired. Worn. Fucking dead. Dead. Yeah. That was a good word. But she wanted everyone around her to be fucking dead, too.

She turned her head and gave the man a long side glance. He seemed... over it? But instead of calm her nerves, the fact that he was so nonchalant about the bar fight they just had only irritated her. He commented on her right hook and she let a moment of pride rush through her. That's right. She could give him a better one too. Trisha shivered and brought her right hand to her left arm, hugging herself slightly. Where was her apartment again? She couldn't really remember. She'd only been in the city a few days, maybe not even a week now. She couldn't really remember. She was hoping the man would just turn and go his own way, but he called her that stupid nickname again.

But he was right. She was soaked to the bone. Reluctantly she followed him to his car and caught the hoodie he sent toward her. She looked at it. It looked warm. Yeah. Fuck it. Might as well. But his next question caught her off guard though. Did the apartment she took a day ago that she had no way of paying the rent for considered a place to live? She didn't bother looking at him, putting on the appearance that the truth really didn't bother her. She tossed the hoodie on the roof of his car before she took off her soaked shirt. She tossed it to the ground. Her black bra was held together by pins and it was obvious that she hadn't eaten well in some while.

"For now..." she answered plainly as she grabbed the hoodie from the roof of the car and slid it on. Her pants were slightly wet but it wasn't too bad. She looked at him angrily, defensively. "You owe me 20 dollars worth of drinks."

[Daniel “Lykaon” Myr]

Even as she begrudgingly accepted a gift he could still see the waves of irritation rolling off her, but it didn't bother the Hunter all that much. Other people's thoughts, other people's opinions unless it was counsel or advice of sorts had very little bearing in his life. Hell, even if someone did give him a few choice words of instruction a good chance existed he would simply ignore them in place of his own bold, confident assumptions. Sure, he got into a little trouble by doing so, but it made everything a challenge, an accomplishment. Now, that isn't to say he saw this girl as some sort of trophy or medal, but stirring in him he felt a desire to ...to... have her--as a friend.

As it was a soft, genuine smile took shape on his lips as she seemed to consider the hoodie a moment before deciding it wasn't lined with poison or about to explode in her face with more beer. Her removal of her shirt caught him off guard and his sharp intake of breath caused him to hiss lightly, swiveling his head sharply to the side to give some poor excuse of privacy. Still, his eye was keen and much like the rest of him it had a long memory when in regards to things he was not supposed to see, that he was not supposed to know.

In the brief second as her hands had thrown off her wet, beer soaked shirt he had taken a mental picture of her slim, almost sickly waist; her ribs as they pressed hungrily against her skin; and the two petite lumps of femininity obscured behind a worn out bra. Normally the female figure ushered forth a spark of passion in his chest, but upon seeing her body he felt nothing save for the widening of emptiness inside of him.

Mentally shaking off the image as best as he could he moved to his passenger door, not looking at her as he opened it and spoke his next words, "I've got room at my place where you can stay... If you want." To be honest not much forethought went into this decision and Daniel could very well wake up the next morning to find most of his possessions (not that he had any expensive ones) gone and this little deviant crawling into another bottle somewhere. Still, he DID have room for her and though he could be an arrogant, insufferable douchebag at times he still had a kind, loyal and spirited streak that lay underneath all that.

And right now... it was showing.

[Trisha Morello]

He didn't seem to care about the fact that he didn't fully use the 20 dollars he put on her tab. She watched him as he quickly turned his head, giving her a poor excuse of privacy. She almost rolled her eyes in irritation, but refrained from doing so. He was just being polite, but politeness kind of pissed her off. People doing something for her out of the sheer social norm of it all. Trisha used to be polite sometimes. She used to hold the door for people. She used to say thank you and please and you're welcome. Perhaps it was bitterness that kept her from being polite to people now.

She turned to face him, fully expecting him to simply nod and hop in his car and drive off. Who wouldn't? She just tried beating his ass up and it was by sheer interference that stopped her from doing that. She could have kicked his ass, too, she kept telling herself that at least. The hoodie hung on her body awkwardly, far too large for her frame. But it was comfortable that way. She liked big clothes. Seeing people, like that bartender in skin tight, low cut clothes... she never understood her. Gutter sluts. All of them.

He went to his passenger side door and opened it for her, telling her she could stay at his place. The offer caught her off guard and she stared at him, her eyes wide with uncertainty. She crossed her arms over her chest, the extra material of the hoodie catching her fists once. His place... stay? It was a strange notion. Why would he offer his place? Was he some kind of pushover or something? Or was it genuine kindness. If he hadn't put up such a fight in the bar, she probably would have spit in his face for the offer. But he wasn't afraid of her like many people were.

Maybe she could just crash there. She didn't really remember where her fucking apartment was anyway. And maybe he had some things of value she could take. But she hated the fact that she would probably seem weak for taking him up on his offer.

"Try anything funny and I'll kill you..." was all she said as she set herself inside his car. She didn't necessarily like this. She felt like she was swallowing her pride. She felt untrue to herself. Ugh. She should have just said fuck off... No, I'll just steal his fucking things...